Ruins
by Gold-Snitcher
Summary: DMHP. oneshot My lover. A quiet boy. Haunted. Draco makes his last attempt to coax his lover back to him.


**Title**: Ruins

**Author:** Gold-Snitcher

**Pairing:** DM/HP

**Summary:** Draco attempts to coax his lover back to him.

* * *

He doesn't look at me as I pull off his robes. His eyes are unfocussed, and this only makes me more determined. I hate seeing him like this, it fills me with fear and anger and makes me feel helpless. I have tried everything I can think of to call him back to me, but still there is that distant look in his eyes. He wants to hide and never be found.

I whisper to him as I press my lips against his skin, pay homage to every part of him. Slowly kissing my way down his body as his clothes fall from his thin frame. He sighs, something that makes my heart leap. At least he can feel me.

I wriggle out of my own robes. It feels strange, as I'm used to him undressing me. Used to our tradition. But tonight is different. This entire week has been different.

This is my last attempt. The only other thing I can think of to purge the nightmares and that damned look from his eyes. To bring him back to life. Because I miss him.

I pull him towards the bed and then topple him onto it, settling my weight above him. I hate that he is so uninterested, it makes me feel like I'm raping him, and I could never do that. So instead I put my mind towards calling him back to me. Scraping my teeth over a nipple, pleading with him to respond. Attacking his mouth with all that I am, pouring it all into him like a strange kind of CPR.

I feel a shudder beneath me and suppress a smile, raking my hands over his body and shifting down, focussing instead on kissing his thighs, moving up to lick his belly-button before sliding down again, and taking him in my mouth.

The fact that he is hard is not as comforting as I thought it would be. Anyone's body could react without their mind being involved. That's what makes rape so heinous, because the person being raped has no control, they know they should hate this person moving within them, but for their life they cannot stop their body from reacting to the touches. So I let go, disregarding his whinge and looking seriously into his eyes.

He's ignoring me. There is nothing behind those green depths, he is a shell and it kills me to see it. "Harry," I whisper, voice breaking because I want him so much but cannot have him. "Harry, I love you." There is a flicker and I feel hope rise within me. "Please. Come back."

The fact that I'm begging would have shocked me at one time, angered me, but he's worth it. He's worth anything. I don't know what he saw that made him retreat from the world, but I'm not letting him go. "I can't let you go. If you don't come back, then I'll follow you. Wherever you've gone, I'll come to you." The jade eyes close for a moment, another huff of air escapes. I've hit something in his head.

Happy with the knowledge that I've given him something to think about, I sink my teeth into the juncture of shoulder and neck -- just enough to make him moan. He would have screamed before, with ecstasy and pain, that happy mixture, but a moan is at least something.

"This is my last attempt, Love, before I give-up and follow you," I whisper it in his ear, remembering how he used to love that. He shivers again and this time he groans. Long and slow.

I kiss the sensitive spot just behind his ear and lick a path to his shoulder, nipping at his collarbone. He shivers beneath me and I move on, toying again with a nipple, teasing it into a nub. Licking and nipping in a way that once would have had him moaning my name in a wanton mantra, the memory brings a smile to my lips and I move down again, nipping at his sides where he has always been slightly ticklish, before kissing his hips.

I take him in my mouth again, driving him to the edge then pulling him back again. Every so often, I spare a glance to his face, checking on the progress of the conflict in his mind. He was never any good at hiding his emotions. There is a war between the passion and ... guilt? There is guilt and pain on his face, but slowly I can see light in those green eyes.

I let go of him, shimmying up the length of his body to whisper in his ear again. "Talk to me. I love you. That will never change. Nothing you can ever do will ever affect that." There is a flash in those eyes and for a moment he is there, looking at me directly, eyes hesitant, but he's there. And then, just as quickly, the glint in his eyes is gone and he has retreated into himself again.

So I return to my task. Slowly coaxing his body to respond to me while his mind tries to break free of whatever it is that has him trapped. I hum around him and he arches up, something that surprises me, because it is a quick and violent reaction that means he has come back, on some scale. I swallow him, licking my lips before dropping beside him to look in his eyes.

His eyes are no longer hollow, though there is still pain in their depths. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and I frown.

"For what?"

He looks away, and I catch his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes again. "For everything."

I roll my eyes. "Harry, in case you haven't noticed, we won. And it's because of you." I'm tempted to include myself, I played no small part, but this is hardly a time to quibble, he needs to be forgiven, freed from his guilt.

"Everyone may have seen you as a saint, Potter." The use of his last name catches his attention. He knows I'm speaking to him now as I did before we were together. No bullshit, clean and smooth like a knife-thrust. My feelings do not obstruct my views, and by using his last name, I'm reminding him of my dual role as his critic and his lover. "I never had such faith in you. You're strong. You're brave, but you are only a wizard. No different than any other wizard except that you were bound to him, so only you could end it. The job was yours and you did it perfectly. That people died is true and unfortunate, but do not for a second believe that any of them would feel flattered by your little guilt-trip. If you really feel upset, if you really are sorry, work hard to make their deaths mean something. Don't close yourself away because of it."

He blinks and there are tears in his eyes. In a moment he has tackled me and is devouring my mouth. It comes as a shock, but I can't complain. He returns the favour that I bestowed on him, and in a moment I am in him, calling his name as if the world is about to end, which, in a way, it has, and here we are initiating the new world that we will now fashion out of the ruins of the old one. I hope this new world will be strong enough.

So here I am, in the throes of ecstasy with my lover who is not only the Boy Who Lived, and the boy who saved the world, but who carries with him the spirits of everyone who died helping him.

My lover, a quiet boy. Haunted.

Just so long as he is always with me, and always loves me. I cannot protest that these ghosts share him.

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**The End**


End file.
